


only love I've ever known

by chasingforeverandaday



Series: forest love, forest lass [7]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Banter, Communication, F/M, Fix-It, Makeouts, Misunderstandings, Smut, proposal, seriously they got really snarky in the middle of getting Arya off, which feels very in character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23951119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingforeverandaday/pseuds/chasingforeverandaday
Summary: Certain proposals are made, certain answers are given, but... not everything must happen exactly the same way, right?In other words: 8x04, proposal done differently
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: forest love, forest lass [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1353406
Comments: 58
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Back to my canon-fixing roots! Here's the first half of my version of the 8x04 proposal, and hopefully part dos will be up on Tuesday. Enjoy the cliffhanger and come yell at me in the comments, it'll make studying for finals this weekend much more fun. Also, note on the actual fic: I did not really write Gendry as drunk, as let's imagine the whole "you've now been legitimized and given a fucking castle" was enough of a shock to totally sober him up, yeah?
> 
> Title from "Chasing Twisters" by Delta Rae, because I really cannot help myself.

Arya was hidden away in a seldom traveled corner of the keep, shooting at a painted cloth on one of the wooden support beams. Aware that the rest of the survivors had turned tonight into a celebration of the living and memorial for the dead, Arya knew she really should be up in the Great Hall with her siblings, seated at the head table to receive thanks from all those she saved by stabbing the Night King. But that wasn’t her, she was a warrior, an assassin, not the gracious Lady of Winterfell.

While she’d be happy to spend time with her family before leaving for King’s Landing, that could wait for a night when she wouldn’t be required to play the respectable princess. Their army needed time to recover from the horrors they’ve all faced, let the men have a return to normalcy before asking them to risk their lives for a throne that only seemed to drip blood and madness.

Of course, there is one more person she wished to be with right now, but they’d always been good at finding each other. At some point, she knows he’ll wander in to look for her, and maybe they’ll talk about all the words they’d left unsaid that night. Because while there’s a tiny, glimmering part of her that had hoped they’d both make it through the battle, most of her couldn’t dare to dream that they would, let alone that he’d still want her in the light of day. So she’d tried to play it off as a chance to be just a woman for a change, and never revealed just how much it meant to be with the boy, no the man, who she’d dreamed about in the years since they’d parted.

But she had hope that maybe he felt the same way. Gendry had kissed her with all the fury of his Baratheon blood, had looked up at her with awe in his eyes, had been so focused on the scars left behind from her years in Braavos. He’d made sure their time together was perfect, limited though it was. Not that she had much (any) experience to compare it to, but from the way she'd heard talk of the act in her lonely years, the sheer pleasure and immense satisfaction she’d felt from being one with him for a short time was something uncommon. Few men were willing to care for a woman in the way Gendry had cared for her, making sure she derived just as much from the experience as he had.

Realizing that she was out of arrows, she moved to the target and wrenched each of them from the wood. Switching her makeshift target to a different post, she realigned, pausing for a moment when she heard familiar footsteps approaching. Timing it perfectly, Arya fired just as he entered the room, straight into the bullseye, arrow quivering in place in front of his awestruck face. 

Just as she was lining up her next shot, fully content to let Gendry pick through his thoughts for as long as it would undoubtedly take her reticent bull, he took a deep breath from his place on one of the crates before whispering, “Arya, the queen just made me a Baratheon.”

The arrow missed the target completely, sticking into the wall instead, something she hasn’t done since before she left Winterfell all those years ago. Lowering the bow, she slowly turned to him completely, face blank and carefully controlled. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Head in his hands, Arya could just barely make out his mumbled response. “The Dragon Queen just bloody legitimized me. I’m to be the new Lord of Storm’s End.”

“That’s…” she trailed off, stunned and a little heartbroken at the revelation that he was going to be out of her reach so soon. This wasn’t all a part of her plans for the immediate future. But gods if he didn’t deserve this recognition, to finally be given a name that meant something more to him than Waters ever could. She schooled her face, let nothing more than an involuntary waver of disappointment color her features for half a moment as she reached for his forearm, giving it a squeeze. “Congratulations.”

But his blue eyes were lost and scared as his hand darted out to latch onto hers, grasping tightly. For a man so strong, he seemed so small in this moment, and all she wanted to do was take him into her arms and hide him away from whatever was chasing him. Keep him safe and warm, far from Danaerys and her throne, Sansa and her scheming, even the Red Woman’s ashes dusted over the battlefield outside Winterfell’s walls. Or if all else failed, simply keep him with her, because as she was rapidly realizing, his mere presence brought her more comfort than a thousand soft furs ever could. And perhaps he felt the same, if the way he was clutching her was any indication.

“Arya, I don’t know how to be lord of anything. I mean, fuck, I barely know how to use a fork.” He looked at her as if she might vanish altogether, as if he was cataloguing every inch of her before somehow she too was abruptly taken from him along with the life he’d been living for years. “I don’t want to- I can’t be a lord Arya, I’m a blacksmith. I know nothing of ruling!”

She smiled without conscious thought, gently moving her hand to stroke his cheek with her thumb, smearing a bit of the soot he always carried like a second skin. “That’s what advisors and maesters and tutors are for, Stupid. They’re meant to help lords. No man can run a kingdom entirely on their own.” He glared up at her mulishly, but the effect was ruined when he nuzzled his face against her palm, sending stubborn sparks directly to her closed off heart.

That strange mix of hurt and hope still hadn’t totally disappeared from his eyes as he whispered his next question, the question that would be the end of her, into the stillness between them. “And the lord’s wife? Isn’t she meant to help as well?”

And there it was. Even if he was being far more subtle in asking her than she’d ever guessed he could, the underlying question was painfully evident. Closing her eyes, Arya tilted her head away, thinking maybe it would hurt less if she didn’t have to see him. “Aye, she is meant to help around the keep, planning feasts, running the household, bearing whatever children her husband puts in her belly.” 

But he was Gendry, and gods she’d forgotten how well he truly knew her sometimes.

“That sounds miserable.” Blunt and matter of fact, he reached for her face, gently coaxing her gaze back to his. She could lose herself in those pools of blue, if only she could let herself fall again, once and for all. Gods knew she’d been teetering on that precipice since the moment she saw him riding into her childhood home.

Half caught sob in her throat, she swallowed wetly before attempting a smile. From the frown he wore she knew she had failed, so instead she tried to distract him with a bit of levity, a return to the banter they’d shared for years. “I’m relatively certain I’ve been telling you that for years. Good to know you’re finally listening to me.” 

He pulled her closer, guiding her to stand between his legs, wrapping his free arm around her waist like a vice. She was trapped, caught in his presence like a whirlpool, and somehow she’d never felt more safe. But this couldn’t last, the love she’d always had for him couldn’t protect him from the death that followed her like a wraith. She was a curse, and no armor he built could save him from her.

Resting her forehead against his, she let herself give in, let herself feel every piece of her heart one last time before she turned it to dust. She kissed him deeply, pouring every ounce of feeling, emotion, _love_ from her soul to his, knowing there could be no safer place for the fragments of herself she must leave behind on her quest for vengeance. It wasn’t fair to him, she knew that, but if this was her only chance to love him, well, she could admit to being selfish.

The night they’d shared had been perfect, he’d been perfect. But this, this was so much more than a few hours of passion. It was a kiss that solidified all those ignored thoughts, that _he is the only one to be your equal_ , that _he is your home, not these walls you grew up in, not the siblings who feel more like ghosts than the people you once knew_ , that _you love him, you love him, you love him_. It was dangerous, it was everything she could ever want. It was everything she could never have, not if he was a lord, not if she went to her death with the specter of all they could be hanging over her head.

Pulling back to catch her breath, she steeled herself, locking everything away for good. Removing her hands from him, she backed away quickly, forcing herself to hold his stare as she broke his heart. She owed him that much. “Gendry, you'll be a wonderful lord, and any lady would be lucky to have you. But I’m not a lady, I never have been. That’s not me.” 

Whatever she’d been expecting, denial or anger or tears or all three, it hadn’t been a laugh. A snorting, messy laugh she’d only heard a time or two, the laugh he reserved for when he thought she was being amusingly stubborn. When he finally calmed, he folded his arms and pressed his back against the crate behind him, the picture of nonchalance.

“I know that, gods do I know you’d never be happy as one of those prissy ladies locked up in a castle.” He smirked up at her, a sarcastic tilt to his head as he waved a hand up and down. “You’re Arya Stark. You were meant to be free to ride and hunt and laugh and fight, and from what you’ve said of most highborn ladies, that’s not what they do. Besides, I think you’d kill any man who tried to claim you for his wife.” 

She was frozen in place, a doe caught in a hunter’s sights. Gendry finally stood, confidently stalking across the room until she had no choice but to move with him until her spine met the opposite wall and he pushed his chest against hers, blocking her in with an arm on either side of her torso. Biting her lip, she prayed for resolve in the face of his stormy eyes, those eyes she could almost gladly allow to swallow her whole. 

One of his hands spanned her entire side, curling around to the small of her back as the other cradled her neck. She had to hold herself back from touching him, from giving him any indication of how close he was to breaking through the walls she’d been throwing back up since this conversation had started. 

“If you don’t want me, Gendry, just your Gendry, then tell me. I love you, but I can’t force you to feel the same. So just tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll leave now.” It would be so much safer for him if she could just get those words out, lie to him well enough that he wouldn’t think twice, wouldn’t try to follow her when she went South to finish her list. But there were some truths that couldn’t be denied, even by her.

“I… I can’t.” Her fluttering hands finally landed on his chest, intending to push him away, create space so she could think straight, but instead fisted in the material of his tunic and dragged him closer, a hairsbreadth from her lips. “I can’t say that because it’s not true. I love you, you idiot. But sometimes love isn’t enough. I can’t be who you want me to be, can’t be Lady Baratheon, can’t even be Arya Stark most of the time.” _Except when I’m with you._ She looked up into those blazing eyes of his, brimming with affection and determination as he leaned in, nudging her nose with his.

“Look Arya, all I know is that you’re beautiful, and I love you, and none of that highborn, castle nonsense will be worth anything if you’re not with me. I don’t want any perfect lady, I just want you. So be with me.” He kissed her again, a quick, fleeting thing that left her chasing after his lips as he pulled back, a determined set to his jaw. “You don’t have to be my wife, or be the lady of Storm’s End. Just be with me, the man who loves every bloody obstinate part of you. Please.”

Her head spun, a million thoughts running through it all at once.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are (mostly) made. Persuasion abounds. Some smut may or may not occur. You know, the good stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit later than I'd planned, but I'm gonna blame that on the law final I took (and kicked ass on) earlier. I'm hoping this makes sense to people besides me? But yeah, hope you enjoy the heated, banter filled conclusion to this story. Let me know if you guys thought it made sense as a whole down below in the comments.

The air between them was still, no sound to be heard but the pounding of her heartbeat hammering in her chest. Staring up at him, she tries so hard to ignore the fire in his stare that says he means every word he says, tries to stifle the traitorous fluttering in her own heart. Since she’d found him again, Gendry had been so open, wearing his heart on his sleeve, proclaiming his love with each word, each action. But he doesn’t understand what she needs to do, why she cannot rest, how she became the way she is. And that makes any relationship between them dangerous, especially for him.

Unable to deny what she is feeling, Arya does her best to dissuade him from his own emotions. Glaring, she puts all the anger she can find into a single demand. “Why?”

Confused, he stops leaning closer to assess exactly what she means. “Why what?” 

“Why do you love me? How can you love me when I do nothing but destroy everything in my path. It’s…” Arya cuts herself off, still so certain in the path she must take, but unsure as to how to make it there when he is so focused on keeping them together. “I’m trying to save you from me, can’t you see that?”

He looks almost offended at the thought. “You are the last person in the world I need protecting from! You just said you love me, why the fuck would you ever hurt me?”

“Gendry, I’ve killed so many people! I’m not good, you deserve someone so much better than me!” Throwing his hands off of her, she tried to push him away, tried to widen the gap between them, but every shove just made him twice as intent on crowding her against the wall. 

“Bullshit!” 

“I murdered every last man of House Frey, and the gods know I enjoyed it!” Her voice seemed to echo through the empty passage they were in, the raucous revelry of the living outside lost to their screaming. Chest heaving, she waits for the confession to drive him away, to scare him, just as it scared her sister. But instead he reaches for her once more and she is helpless to do anything but let herself be manhandled.

“I said, bullshit!” Blue eyes blazing, he grasped her shoulders tightly, keeping her firmly in his sights. He spoke in no more than a hard whisper, but every word vibrated through her bones. “You think I didn’t pray to every god I could think of, including the fucking Red God,  _ for years _ , that the Freys would meet a bloody end? The Freys, who as far as I knew, raped and murdered you with your mother and brother?” He pulls her closer, so close she can feel every exhale against her mouth, harsh and unforgiving. “I thought they killed you Arya, so no, I will never condemn you for getting your revenge on them, not ever. I’d have helped you do it myself, gladly.” 

Reaching up, her hand tugged on his short hair and yanked down, fuzing his lips with hers in a bruising kiss, so different from the ones they’d shared earlier in the night. Those were perfect, and warm, and so loving, but this? This was pure heat, all the built up passion they both had in spades, a lust so strong it defied everything she’d been taught by the Faceless Men, because how could someone who was No One experience this feeling of being stripped bare, of being known so intimately to the very core of their being? 

Arching her chest into his, she leapt upwards, trusting that he would catch her because there was no such thing as close enough now. Those rough, tantalizing hands seemed to be everywhere at once, balancing under her arse, banded around her waist, diving under her tunic to dance along skin left untouched by anyone but him. The onslaught of sensation was too much, it all crashing down on her so completely she can do naught but ride the wave of the two of them, together in harmony, not the discord of only moments ago.

Legs wrapped around his hips, she had to break away from his mouth, unable to breathe. He attacked her neck, biting and sucking like he wanted nothing more than to devour her whole. A gasp is forced out of her when he nips at her pulsepoint, involuntary but so incredibly present, just as her feelings for him remain. Unwilling to think on it much longer, she drags his lips back up, sealing any words she might accidentally reveal with his kiss. It’s all tongue and lips and teeth and fire, so much fire. 

She might die of pleasure if she keeps kissing him this way, but she surely will if she stops. It’s so much, yet nowhere near enough. When they’d fucked, he’d kept it slow, made sure she was relaxed, comfortable. It had been so very good, but the way he’d gripped her had been careful, all the contact purposeful; not a fingertip out of place as he’d driven them both to their climaxes. Now, she knows he’s abandoned all control in the face of losing her. But then he pauses to breathe, and no, they cannot end here, not now. 

When he releases her mouth, Arya lets her weight drop just a bit, rubbing her core down along his abs until she stops on his strong thigh, his hardness pressing into her stomach. He grunts into her hair as she does it again, raising herself up then falling oh so carefully, dragging herself just enough so he’s swearing as he pins her to the wall, a nowhere near angry glower on his face as one of his hands captures both of hers.

Smirking, Arya tilts her chin in apparent surrender, baring her neck in supplication, just like the wolf she is inside. But rather than let him win, she goes for his throat when he angles in, marking him thoroughly as hers for all to see. Their hips grind together slowly, the kind of profound torture she’s only ever fantasized about.

Then he lifts her up again, and just looks at her for a moment, eyes gleaming with humor, and wonder, and the love she’s been trying so hard to deny. They lean in at the same time, lips soft this time as she kisses him with a smile. 

And maybe, maybe she can just let go. Maybe she can let herself love him, and be loved in return. Maybe loving him doesn’t have to end in the death and destruction she’d been picturing in her nightmares since he rode into Winterfell. Maybe she can just be happy, happier than she’s been in so many years, with him.

Maybe.

Panting against his mouth, she swears, “Gods damn it Gendry.” 

“Now what?” He sounds so exasperated, she has to open her eyes, if only to see the look on his face. And then she nearly giggles.

Just as she’s sure she does, he looks like he fought the dead again and lost. His face is a splotchy red, his tunic all askew from her wandering hands. His stupid, ridiculously short hair is as messy as it can be, his lips swollen. There’s a blooming bruise on his neck, with visible indents from her teeth she’s embarrassingly proud of. He’s a debauched mess, but she will hunt down anyone or anything that tried to take him away from her.

Her smile fades as her fingers draw abstract patterns against the back of his head. “Why did you have to say the perfect thing at the worst possible time?” Sighing to herself, she finally admits, “I’m going to King’s Landing.” Eyes clenched tight as she burrows into his chest one last time, she waits for his warmth to leave her, once and for all, but the only thing she feels is his deep, calming breath as he hugs her closer. And that’s how she knows, this is for keeps.  
“I know.” And he’s telling the truth, she knows he is, but there’s something else in his voice. Something he’s not telling her. And then the other shoe drops. “When do we leave?” 

“You’re not coming with me.” She thinks she manages to mimic her sister’s no nonsense tone quite well considering she’s still draped around his hips with no intention of getting down anytime soon. Or the ability to, since her legs feel the tiniest bit like jelly at the moment.

Dark eyebrow raised, he stares back, just as sure. “Yes I am.” 

“No, you’re…” but oh how utterly distracting this man can be, with those hazy dark eyes that she could drown in, and those hands that are unlacing her trousers and dipping in to trace ever so lightly in the crease of her waist. Shaking her head, she tries to sound stern, “Gendry, no, I mean it. You can’t come with me.” One of his hands reaches into the back of her pants and grabs a handful of her ass, pulling her into his solid torso as he presses her further into the wall, his heavy hardness caught between them. A trembling finger aims for his chest, jabbing at him ineffectively. “And you’re Lord Baratheon, you can’t go swanning off on a suicide mission whenever you want.”

He cocks his head to the left with a smug grin. “Arya, yes, I’m coming with you.” Before she can protest, he tips her chin up and presses a quick kiss to her lips, halting her thoughts in their tracks. When they pause, he nudges her nose with his, the most innocent kind of affection she thinks they’ve ever shared. “Also, what part of none of it means anything without you didn’t you understand? You don’t want to be a lady, so I won’t be a lord. Simple as that.” Both his hands are back at her hips now, her trousers loosened and gaping, teasing the sensitive skin of her thighs. “And it won’t be a suicide mission.”

“Of course it won’t be, you’ll be safe outside of the city and I’ll be in and out before anyone notices I’ve been there in the first place.” Then all coherent thoughts flee as his work calloused fingers massage through her folds, toying with her as he continues to kiss along her jawline. Biting down on the moan forcing its way out, she whines into his neck, “You suck.”

“Yes, love, but you do seem to enjoy it. Quite loudly.” He twists his fingers inside of her swiftly, a motion that unlocks something wild and free as she bites down on his shoulder, trying to suppress a surprised howl. He keeps stroking that spot, building her so quickly to her peak that she falls without warning, a gasp wrenched from her lungs as he slowly guides her back down to his arms. Smirking, he asks, “So I’m coming with you?”

Breathless, she finally acquiesces, if only just for a short reprieve from his much too convincing tactics. “Fuck. Fine, but we’re continuing this argument somewhere more private.”

Helping her down, he holds her steady as she regains feeling in her legs, determined not to stumble out of this corner of the keep like a baby deer first learning to walk. His grin had softened, though still definitely amused, as he pushed a wayward piece of hair behind her ear. “Is that what we’re calling this then, an argument?”

Knocking his shoulder with hers, she turns to lead the way back to the castle proper. “Shut up Stupid.” But she holds tightly to his hand as they sneak to her chambers, so perhaps he isn’t as stupid as he used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, these two would totally keep arguing while getting each other off right? I'm totally right.


End file.
